If I were to give you readers (all 2 of you) a card today, it would say "Happy Hump Day! I'm pregnant!". Since I have finally told everyone I think I am supposed to tell, I suppose it's time to start telling blogger nation about it. It's true! I am 12.5 weeks pregnant...officially out of the Kenny Loggins danger zone and pedaling full speed ahead to absolute chaos. I'm due October 4. Everyone is already asking me what I want...what, like what kind of puppy? Orange kitten vs. gray? I just want a baby. Boy/girl, makes no difference. Jack has been spectacularly easy, and despite his orneriness, he is about the best you could ask for - so I'd be fine with another boy. I'd also be fine with a girl. So, let's get to specifics.

Again, hubby and I were extraordinarily lucky in the "trying" department. I attribute that solely to the laisez-faire attitude we share in that, if we do, awesome, if we don't, no worries. It's probably not that simple, but it's my theory. I'm not out there charting my temperature, sticking myself with needles and sobbing every month when my period comes. I hope none of you did that. I think we're just lucky ducks. Third time was a charm this time around, and I think it was more shocking than finding out I was pregnant with Jack. I mean, seriously? We're going to have another one? Trust me, four tests and a doctor's visit do not lie. Turns out I was knocked up on the cruise...whoopsies on the mass alcohol consumption on days 1-6. Not that I would have known...but it's weird, because I knew. As soon as we got back, I knew. Two days later, confirmed. I don't think I have ever been so calm - I wasn't nervous about getting a negatory because I just knew. The way you know about a good melon.

I've been feeling relatively normal. Except that my brain cells are being sucked out faster than a Dyson. I left my car running. For an hour. Under the awning at work. My purse inside. Nice work! It doesn't get much worse than that. It was 6,000 degrees inside when I finally realized it and who knows how much gas gone. I forget everything these days. I forget I'm pregnant sometimes - I'm much busier this time around, not just with work, but with Jack and a new puppy that is peeing all over the house. Each morning I wake and put my hand to my belly, expecting the "pop"...everyone tells me it happens so much sooner. Right now I feel like I'm just developing a nice case of muffin top. Hence the reason I did something I swore to the fashion gods I'd never do. I wore leggings. Not for working out, but to actual work. Everyone tells me this is ok, but it's not! I'm so ashamed...I've done it three times in the last week. Again, no brain cells.

Otherwise, my boobs are huge, I'm terrified of hemorrhoids (I don't know why, I've never had them) and we heard the heartbeat last week! A steady 160-170...good times! Little stinker scared me when we didn't hear it right away, but finally came around. I jog at the speed of a 90 year old with a walker and am so out of breath when I teach Pilates that I know my class thinks I am insane. It's all worth it...Come October, I'll have the proof.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! In my early-mid twenties, I would have used this day as an excuse to skip class (or get someone to cover a shift) in order to down green beers at the local watering hole...sitting out in the beer garden, enjoying the (almost) spring sunshine as I enjoyed some laughs. This year, the laughs are of a different sort - the kind only a two-year old can bring you in his tiny green polo and frog socks. "Good boy, mommy," he says, patting my leg as I use the toilet. "Mary Gordon, no!" he yells at me as I peel him from his perch on the counter while I'm cooking dinner. It seems mommy and daddy are now called by their first names around our house. "Jason, what doin'?" he says to hubby. "Mary, Maaarrryyyyy, come get me," he hollers from the bottom of the stairs (apparently these days he is also unable to walk up the stairs on certain occasions). I have to hide my smile and politely remind him that I am mommy and daddy is daddy.

Last week, and actually until just yesterday the poor guy was struck with the stomach flu and just could not shake it. The good news is that he was very adamant about having his diapers changed and did not appreciate Rhea Perlman sliding down his leg. We did ok, except for one day when each diaper warranted a bath. I thought the stench would never leave my nostrils and only realized this morning that it had finally vacated. Thank goodness the throw up part only lasted a day and I have gotten the warning signs for that beast down to a science (Ok, well, except for the first one, which hubby cleaned up as I comforted our crying child. I am gagging just thinking of it), so the key is just to see how fast I can race him to the toilet - or in a couple of cases, the sink, where I promptly bonked his head on the cabinet. Mom of the year.

I wish you all a delightful St. Paddy's Day. I hope everyone is enjoying some delicious corned beef (I came thisclose to ditching the vegetarian diet today and purchasing a Reuben down the street) and a delicious Guiness on this beautiful almost spring day.

Like most kids, Jack loves music. He has recently taken up serious dancing, saying, "Mommy, yet's dance," when the opportunity arises. He associates songs with people he loves, and therefore loves songs and sings along. When one of his favorites comes on he can hardly contain his excitement and a little smile starts to creep onto his lips. He knows a lot of the words, which means he must take after his mother, who knows the words to every song ever created, and not his father, who is the worst lyric figure-outer known to man. Besides maybe my brother-in-law.

Some of Jack's faves:

"Low" by Flo-Rida
"Chicken Fried" by the Zach Brown Band and he's partial to a "stars & stripes" portion of the song
"I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz (this is "Daddy's song")
"Love Story" by Taylor Swift (this is "Mommy's song")
"ABCD" - which is on a Little People cd in my car - he calls it "ABCBs"
"You Are My Sunshine" - sung by me and Jack - he calls it "Sunshine". I love that he loves it because my grandpa used to sing it to me as we walked from his shop to his house. It's my favorite song ever.
And finally...the KU Alma Mater, sung in a duet by mommy & Jack also. He calls this one "Golden Balley" after a few of the lyrics. He knows the whole thing...I'm a proud Jayhawk Mama!

Lately he has taken to reciting the Rock Chalk chant at any given moment. Another sign that I am teaching my firstborn some extremely important lessons about who is tops in not only education, but the world of athletics.

In other important news, Dancing With the Stars has returned and I'm tempted to spray myself a lovely shade of terra cotta, put on my sparkliest eye shadow and pick up a spangly little outfit to prance around the house in. I wasn't thrilled at first, but after seeing the premiere last night, I'm totally excited. Let's hear it for Shawn & Gilles (who we all know will get votes on the simple fact that the entire female population has seen his peen, but is actually very good. I'm sure Cheryl is thrilled).

Much love to you all...I am trying to be a better blogger and post more often.